Runescape: Return to Canifis

by T. S. Church

  Castimir looked behind him as Malak nodded. He saw a woman with a silent infant in her arms, watching the three prisoners with hungry and desperate eyes.

  He’s right. These wretches cannot spare anything. Least of all food.

  “But we can offer more than these three humans,” Theodore said boldly, following the jester’s lead. “Our steeds would feed more of your people than the prisoners. Surely you are gaining more from such a bargain.”

  Malak laughed cruelly.

  “These requests will not be entertained. You have nothing to offer in their place. Horse flesh is no substitute for the tenderness of youth. Would you be satisfied with nettle broth instead of steak? No. Tonight, the prisoners will die.

  “But I sense the truth of what you speak, Kara-Meir. These two were your property in the unholy land across the river. Their belongings will be returned to you shortly. Roavar will see to that. I have respected your embassy, but now I must know of its purpose.”

  He leaned forward and locked eyes with her.

  “What is it the King of Misthalin wants?”

  Despaard stepped forward.

  “He requests the return of those unlawfully taken from his lands. He wishes this creature we call the Wyrd to be destroyed, withdrawn, or better still to be handed to us for punishment. And finally, he wishes to have the assurance from Lord Drakan that the prophecy foretold by the High Priest of Entrana will in no way be acted upon.”

  Malak remained silent for what seemed an interminable time.

  “Very well,” he whispered silently, rising from his throne of shadows. “I know you have come to this land with the King’s Seal to prove your status, but I will not require that from you. I will take these requests to my master. In the meantime, you must all remain in Canifis.”

  The shadows that composed his throne drifted apart, falling rapidly back.

  Incredible, Castimir marvelled. What would I have to do to gain such power? Think what I could do with it.

  “You should put these three from your mind, Kara-Meir,” Malak told her. “If you attempt to rescue them, you will violate the terms of your embassy and your lives will be forfeit, in ways you cannot imagine.”

  Malak’s body shimmered and then the details of his being began to fade. The folds in the robes of his cloak blurred and the colours merged into a subfusc blandness. His face lost its detail. Soon, his solid form sublimated into a pale mist, vanishing on the breeze.

  Castimir felt as if a foot had been taken off his chest. He breathed easier, and was aware of a cold sweat upon his skin.

  I felt myself agreeing to everything he said. Was I alone in that, or were the others affected likewise?

  He shook his head, aware that Kara was talking to Pia, aware of Theodore interrupting her angrily, and of Gar’rth and Despaard joining in on the Knight’s side.

  Suddenly, a snarl silenced them all.

  It was Imre. Behind him walked Arisha, with Albertus leaning on her arm. The old man looked older than when Castimir had seen him last, paler and weaker, his skin more wrinkled than before.

  “I wanted to... wanted to come with you.” Albertus’s voice was faint and slurred. “Have I... have I missed anything?”

  The old man’s presence surprised them all, and a brief silence fell. Then it was shattered.

  “Help us! Please help us!” Pia shouted. “Please, you can’t leave us here.”

  Vanstrom Klause pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “You have to go,” he said to them. “Now. Your friends are right, Kara-Meir. There is nothing you can do for us. I thank you for trying, but we three are dead. When the time comes you must not interfere. If you do, you will suffer a far worse fate than death. It will be an eternity of suffering.” Vanstrom pressed his face as close to the bars as he was able.

  “And you should know, our lives have not been wasted. We will be dead soon, but our sacrifice will mean many others will live. Promise me, promise me you won’t interfere.”

  Kara took Pia’s hand in her own. Castimir could see her body shudder as she wept. Doric lowered his face in shadow and Arisha, moving among them with Albertus still on her arm, put her free hand upon her friend’s shoulder.

  “I promise,” Kara said finally. “I promise I won’t interfere. Pia, I’m so sorry.”

  “No!” Pia yelled angrily, wrenching her hand away from Kara’s as if she had been burned, her face a mask of rage. “You promised us, Kara! You promised you would help us! You promised...”

  Suddenly Kara broke away and ran. Castimir leapt aside as she fled toward the inn, its outline barely visible through the swirling mists. Pia shouted after her.

  “You promised us, Kara! You gave your word! Please... please don’t leave us. Please!” She grabbed the bars and shook with all her strength, yet the metal was unyielding.

  And Jack, behind her, stared blankly ahead as if they were all strangers.

  It is the gaze of a person waiting to die.

  Now Pia turned to those who remained.

  “Sir Theodore, you must help us,” she pleaded. “You cannot permit us to be murdered here—”

  “I’m sorry, Pia,” he said. “There is nothing any of us can do.” The knight turned and strode away quickly, back to the inn.

  Cold, Theodore. Very cold.

  “Please don’t go. Just don’t leave me here...” Pia’s voice had faded now to a whimper, her voice hoarse from shouting. Tears ran down her face as she collapsed against the bars.

  “It is too hard a burden for one so young,” Vanstrom murmured.

  Arisha handed Albertus over to Gideon Gleeman. The jester steadied the old man as the priestess knelt before the girl.

  “I will remain here with you, Pia,” she promised. “Come, let us pray together, in this dark place. And you also, Jack—come to me here where I can hold you.”

  Castimir felt his eyes water. A quick look at his companions informed him he wasn’t alone. Lord Despaard stared angrily into space, Gar’rth clenched and unclenched his fists, his face human once more, while Doric shook his head slowly. Albertus Black’s eyes were blurred, his tears faint on his pale skin.

  Arisha took the siblings through the bars and kissed each one on the forehead. She held them very tightly and Pia’s wailing subsided. Even Jack seemed more animated at her touch.

  How does she have the strength to keep giving? Even here.

  “The rest of you should go back,” she told them over her shoulder. “There is nothing you can do here, and it might become increasingly dangerous as the werewolves grow bolder. Can I rely on your protection, Imre?”

  The werewolf looked at her with hatred. Castimir clutched the runes in his hands in readiness.

  “You can,” he said finally. “Malak has said that none of you shall be hurt by my people. My guard will keep you safe.”

  “Then I shall remain also,” Castimir said, feeling Arisha’s stare bore into him. “You should not be alone, Arisha, and my powers are perhaps most effective to safeguard you here.”

  “Very well,” she said. “But the rest of you must leave.”

  Doric patted Arisha on the shoulder and strode away, muttering in his own language and shaking his head angrily.

  Only Gar’rth hesitated now.

  “You should speak to Kara, Gar’rth,” Arisha told him. “Theodore and she will no doubt find an argument in their discussions, but he is right. This time.”

  “I will not be far away,” the werewolf said, then he turned and followed the rest of them.

  And they were left alone.

  How many from the Tower can say they have stood in the centre of Canifis, guarding a Guthixian priestess as she performs last rites?

  None, he mused, save me.

  Then Castimir gritted his teeth, angry at himself as he saw Jack’s glassy gaze.

  Today wasn’t a day for him to feel proud.

  27

  Kara sat on the stairs, in full view of the group, with her knees drawn up and her head bowed.


  She had stopped crying, and now she just felt empty inside. Occasionally she would raise her head and find Theodore looking at her. At first he had been frosty, now he tried to smile, offering her sympathy.

  That made her feel worse.

  Give me your anger, Theodore. That I could cope with, that I would expect. But what I detest is pity.

  Gar’rth had been no better. She had expected him to understand, but he had sided with Theodore from the outset. Despaard had gone so far as to tell her not to be so naïve.

  The truth is that they are right. I know it. I knew it since the moment I saw Pia in there. There really is nothing I can do.

  Absolutely nothing.

  This realisation came as no comfort when she recalled Pia’s face, and the agony as she had pulled her hand away.

  “Can’t we offer them an exchange?” Albertus asked from the other side of the inn, his voice loud in the tense silence. He stood behind a chair, his hands gripping the backrest and his filmy eyes staring through the window panes. Outside, the leaping shadows and occasional howl reminded them they were in a town of werewolves.

  “I tried that,” Gideon told him. “They wouldn’t accept the horses.”

  “No... no.” Albertus shook his white head. “I meant something else. I mean, one of us for them.”

  What!

  No one spoke. Kara looked at the old man for a long minute. He seemed sincere.

  “Is it such a foolish suggestion?” Albertus said, perceiving their scrutiny. “Take me for instance, for it was myself I was proposing to offer in exchange. I am old, far older than even their tender years combined. And the truth is... the truth is I haven’t been well. Not for some months now. In fact, I don’t expect to see another summer.”

  The door opened and Arisha entered, followed by Castimir. The two must have sensed the atmosphere and its source, for they looked at Albertus.

  “So,” Arisha said gently. “Have you told them?”

  The old man nodded.

  “Told them what?” Castimir asked.

  “I am very ill, Castimir. I will likely be dead before the year is out. It was one of the deciding factors that made me join this embassy, to see the land of the dead before my soul made its way here. Now I have seen it, I am... I am scared, truth be told. Scared that I have lived a life without religion, without faith. Will I end up here, forever?

  “So you see, this is my last chance to achieve recognition in Saradomin’s eyes. My life for theirs. It will save me, and it will save them.”

  “It is madness,” Despaard whispered. “And it is too late now. Malak has gone. I doubt the werewolves could make such a choice of their own accord.”

  Gar’rth nodded.

  “Lord Despaard is right. They couldn’t do so.”

  “And would they accept it anyhow?” Theodore added. “It seems as if Malak and the elders delight in the pain this causes us.”

  Albertus nodded silently, his eyes fixed on the dark shapes that ran about in the fog. The howls and activity outside grew louder, and somewhere a loud drum began to beat.

  “It won’t be long now,” Gar’rth said.

  “Imre told us to come inside,” Arisha told them. “He felt it was unsafe for us to remain near the cage any longer. May Guthix help them...”

  The sounds of the celebration continued for what seemed like an eternity. Kara pressed her hands over her ears, but she could not block it out.

  Coward, Kara-Meir! You are a coward.

  “No,” Kara said. “No, I have to see.” She stood and ran to the door. As she opened it, a huge shadow blocked her way. She gave a gasp of surprise, her sword halfway from its scabbard before she recognised it as Roavar.

  “Lower that blade, Kara-Meir,” he growled. “I come at the bidding of Malak. He has asked that your belongings be returned to you. Come.”

  Kara followed the elder from the inn. Behind her came the rest of the group—all save two, for Gideon remained behind with Albertus.

  “Roavar. Please,” she said, fighting to push back despair. “Please, is there nothing I can offer you for their lives? Money? Food? Perhaps regular trade with Misthalin to improve your peoples’ lives?”

  “Malak has decreed it,” he replied flatly. “No words you know can change his mind.”

  He walked quickly then. They followed him as he went south and then east down narrow dirty streets. After a few minutes’ travel they arrived at a squat building, the door locked securely.

  “We do not value gold or jewels as do you humans, and any we find on our travels are kept here for our trade with various individuals. The prisoners’ possessions were put here, as well.”

  “The House of Artefacts,” Gar’rth whispered at her side. “I have never seen inside.”

  Roavar produced a key and inserted it in the lock. The mechanism gave a loud click, and the door swung open to reveal a cavernous dark interior.

  “Come inside, but wait near the door while I find the lantern.”

  He went inside and was momentarily lost to the darkness. Kara took several steps into the gloom, the rest behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could just make out odd piles of vague shapes, and shelves stacked with books and other less recognisable objects.

  The elder gave a cry as a dull light illuminated the room.

  By the gods!

  Castimir gasped, or it might have been Theodore or Doric or even Despaard—she could not tell, but it was a suitable expression for the sight that greeted them. The room was huge, stretching far beyond the weak light cast by the lantern. Piles of gold coins the height of a man were scattered unevenly about, as if they had been placed there as an afterthought. There were rubies, too, along with sapphires and diamonds and a hundred other glittering stones that Kara had no name for.

  Swords ranging from the most ornate to the most simple iron blades lay propped carelessly against the nearest wall. Close by were bows and arrows, crossbow stocks, maces, axes and weapons made entirely of bone. Stacked on several rows of shelves were bound books, their parchment bleached with age.

  “This is incredible,” Castimir whispered in awe.

  “I doubt even King Roald can match such wealth,” Despaard uttered.

  “How have you come by all this?” Doric asked, his eyes rolling in their sockets as he examined one gem after another.

  Roavar grunted.

  “We have little use for such things, and Morytania is an ancient realm and a vast one. Its reputation has kept human treasure seekers from plundering our lands, and over many centuries our people have found and gathered such trinkets.”

  Castimir gasped again, pointing to an open chest at the foot of the bookshelves.

  “You have runes. You have thousands and thousands of runes.” The chest was full, and the small objects were spilling over the edge and onto the floor. Then he realised that there was more than one.

  The werewolf nodded as he knelt in a shadowed corner to retrieve an unseen object.

  “I could spend the rest of my life here, cataloguing this property,” the wizard said. He ran forward, peering into the chests at the runes and then at the bookshelf nearest him. “This is amazing, truly so. If I could take these runes back to the Tower we would be a great order ag—”

  Castimir froze, his mouth open in shock.

  “What is it?” Kara called, reaching for Kingsguard and coming to join him.

  “This book. What is this book?” He pointed to a particular tome among many on the bookshelf, level with his eyes. On its spine Kara could make out a curious symbol that possessed no meaning for her. Castimir reached and withdrew it amid a cloud of dust.

  “They are ancient volumes written in a forgotten language,” Roavar said with a shrug, standing. Castimir lifted the cover and read for a single moment, his face draining of colour.

  “Well?” Arisha asked him impatiently.

  “It’s one of them,” Castimir whispered excitedly. “It has the same symbols used in Master Segainus’
s works. I must have it. I must!”

  Roavar turned suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the wizard. Kara saw for the first time the items he had retrieved from their hiding place, beyond her sight.

  Is that it? Is that really it?

  It was her adamant sword, along with her travelling satchel that Pia had taken from her room in the palace. Quickly, she advanced and took them from the werewolf.

  Meanwhile, Roavar growled at Castimir. The wizard closed the book quickly, but kept hold of it.

  “How much for this book, written in a forgotten language?” he asked.

  “This isn’t a marketplace, fool,” the werewolf snapped. “Put that back—”

  A woman’s scream froze Kara to the spot. Seconds later more screams followed, voices full of fear and anguish. Without hesitation Roavar bounded past to the door, looking left and right, to find the source of the commotion. Swiftly the group followed him outside.

  “Is it Pia?” Kara asked.

  “No,” Gar’rth said. “No, it is too early for her. This is something else.”

  Flames sprang up to the north. To the west, behind the inn, a second orange glow could be seen.

  “Fire!” Theodore shouted. “Canifis is burning.”

  “Is this your doing?” Roavar roared into the knight’s face. “Do you realise what will happen to you if you break the conditions of your embassy? Do you?”

  “It is not us,” Despaard replied. “I swear it.”

  “Then go back to the inn, and remain there,” Roavar barked as he shut and locked the door behind them. Kara held her sword in her hand, the sword that Master Phyllis had made for her.

  Our fortune has shifted at last. There is an opportunity now.

  And as they headed west, toward the inn, Kara saw in the dim light Castimir’s triumphant grin, and the book he held against his chest as he ran.

  28

  Gar’rth could hear the angry roars of his people building to a fearful climax as more fires were lit.